The Angel Cried
by NightDemoness
Summary: When Christine is left alone in the world, who can save her from herself? Modern Day Phic Leroux based, with some ALW
1. Christine

**Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Sandi, who beta-ed the first three chapters of the story for me. May you feel better soon.**

**Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera ore any of the original characters, as much as I wish I did. **

When I was ten years old my father died. The loss crushed my soul beyond any hope of repair.

My father and I had been the closest of friends. Ever since my mother died, an event that I remembered though somewhat vaguely, it had been just my father and me. As a musician he didn't always have a steady paycheck, but we made ends meet, though we definitely had a tight budget. Sometimes he and I would go out to the street corners to make money. He would play his violin, and I would sing. We'd always make a fair sum, enough to buy dinner at least. But never enough to live off of for more than a few weeks at a time. It didn't seem to matter.

When my father was still well, he used to tell me stories. Stories he learned while we still lived in Sweden, I was too young when we moved to remember living there, except for a few hazy memories. Usually they told of the adventures of Little Lotte, and the Angel of Music. One day he told me, after a particularly bad coughing fit, that when he was in heaven, he would send the Angel of Music to me. I responded with the innocence that had not been taken from me yet. "I hope I get visited before then, because what's the use of being taught by an angel while you're in heaven?" I never thought to think I would ever be without him. Three weeks after this conversation, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.

Our heath insurance was laughably bad. He wasn't able to get the treatments that would keep him alive. For two years he wasted away before my very eyes. I tried to earn money in whatever way I could, mowing lawns, singing on street corners, anything that would pay for the next meal. Then, five months before my eleventh birthday, Charles Daae died.

I wasn't given time to mourn. Social Services sent me into a foster home a mere three days after my father's death. The funeral was paid for by his life support, but it didn't give me much as an inheritance. After all of our debt was paid off, there was a grand total of thirty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents.

I was tossed from foster family to foster family for nearly eight years. No one wanted to adopt a girl who was above the age of four, even if she _could_ sing like an angel.

There was one family in particular that I remembered. I only stayed with the Sumptner family for six months, but I remember the six months vividly. Not because the Sumptners were particularly kind, but because of their neighbors, the Chagneys. Robert Chagney was my age, fourteen at the time, and the most handsome boy I had ever met. He always had a kind word for me, and I was soon infatuated with him. We went out for four months, a remarkable amount of time for the age. He was the only one ever to extract the full story of my father's life out of me. In a strange way, he reminded me of my father. Always laughing and he even played the violin for a couple months. He was incredibly bad at playing the instrument, but I knew it was an effort to please me, and I was touched. Robert gave it up after only two months, but it's the thought that counts, right? But then the Mr. Sumpter lost his job, and I could no longer stay with the family. The move left me bitter, but I moved on, as I had learned to do over the years.

My eighteenth birthday was a day I had been dreading. Social Services washed their hands of me, as I was now an adult. The family I was staying with allowed me to stay until I graduated from high school, but two months after I graduated I was out.

Despite all of the difficulties in my life, I remained true to the standards I knew my father would have wanted me to keep. I had a few boyfriends, though they were few and far between, but they never got anything more than my kisses. I didn't drink until I was eighteen, though it had been legal for two years. Even then I drank moderate amounts. I had been asked by multiple families why this was so. I usually mumbled something about how it was what my father would have wanted. While this was what my father would have wanted, it wasn't my primary reason. I had more self respect than to ruin myself. And when I turned sixteen I gained another reason.

The long awaited Angel of Music came to me. His voice came when I took my daily walk to the nearby park. I stayed in the same house for the two years until I turned eighteen, so it became a tradition of sorts to walk to the park to watch the sun set every day. The angel of music became one of my reasons for living.

After moving out of the house that was the closest thing to a home I had, I got a job at a "restaurant," though it was truly a bar, named "Café Populaire". I did a plethora of things, from being a waitress, to bartending on Wednesday nights. We attracted all sorts of interesting people. Inaddition to the usual bar scum, a famous artist or two was known to stop in for the occasional drink.

Carlotta Guidicelli was our usual performer, though, when she had one of her fits, we had someone else. She had been singing for the Cafe for a little over five years. I secretly dreamed of having her job; of listening to the crowd cheer me, and most of all, of pleasing my Angel.


	2. Under New Management

**Author's Note: Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers. The reviews mean the world to me.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Monj, for being generally cool and supportive.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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**PhantomsHeart: Anne! My first reviewer! gives Anne a nifty hat I'm flattered by your kind words about my work. Thank you so much! hugs Anne**

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It was my intention to wipe the bar down until it shone. This would be no easy task, considering all of the alcohol that had gotten spilled the night before. There had been a brawl between several young men. It wasn't too serious, as they were so drunk they could barely stand let alone hurt one another, but a good bit of alcohol got sprayed over the bar. It had dried and left a gritty residue, making it hard to scrub off.

I was not alone in the bar. Our diva, Carlotta, and her accompanist were sitting at a booth, chatting.

Carlotta certainly looked the part of diva. Her hair was a shocking shade of pink, so people were sure to notice her. Her pink mini-skirt and tube top left little to the imagination, and managed to disgust every female in the area. She had an air about her that suggested that she was used to getting what she wanted, and that if you displeased her there would be disastrous consequences.

Rubauld Piangi, Carlotta's accompanist, was a mediocre piano player. In fact, the only reason he wasn't fired was because Carlotta insisted. It was generally bad form to go out with your accompanist, but that didn't stop Carlotta. If there was one good trait that Carlotta had it was relative indifference to people's opinions, except for their opinions on her voice.

Piangi was rather large. A good amount of his time was spent either drinking himself under the table, or eating. Other than that he was rather average looking. Brown hair, brown eyes, five foot ten, he was average in almost every imaginable way. He was a person who disappeared into a crowd.

I was finally getting the last of it off, when I heard the doors open. In walked the owner of the bar, accompanied by two men I had never seen before. Mr. Poligny cleared his throat loudly. Carlotta and I looked up. Mr. Poligny cut to the chase.

"For some weeks we have all been worrying about the Populaire's imminent bankruptcy. These men," he gestured toward the two men beside him, "Bought the establishment for a handsome price, and in doing so managed to pay all of our debt. They now own the Café Populaire."

He pointed to the man on the left of him. "Mr. Armand Mononcharmin."

Armand was a rather short man, with a ruddy complexion. He showed signs of balding, but what was left of his hair was dove gray and cut rather short. His eyes were almost the exact same shade as his hair, which gave him a rather drab appearance.

Mr. Poligny then pointed to the man to the right of him. "Mr. Richard Firmin."

Richard wasn't tall, or particularly pale, but standing near his small ruddy companion he looked it. At the most he was five eleven. But, at five foot four, I wasn't one to judge that as being short. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself; or he was just a naturally anxious man I couldn't quite tell. His hair was brown, with liberally spread graying patches. He had a hideous comb over, presumably to hid the beginning signs of balding.

From his pocket, Mr. Poligny slowly pulled out a small black book, and stretched his hand out towards the new managers, as if afraid of the object he offered.

At that precise moment, my friend and our regular bartender, Meg Giry walked through the doors. Meg had natural good looks. She had pale skin, dark blue eyes, and raven-black hair that I envied bitterly. At the sight of the book she paled even more than she normally was.

"What are you doing?" She hissed to Poligny. "That's the Ghost's book!"

Armand and Richard exchanged glances. "The…Ghost's book?" They asked, obviously puzzled. Though Poligny made several frantic gestures indicating that Meg should not carry on the strain of conversation, she launched into an explanation.

"Surely you know of the ghost! You see, we are on the end of a very prestigious line of houses, know throughout France as centers for the arts. But the string of houses and our restaurant are both haunted by an age old ghost. He has been here since about fifty years after the houses were built, in the early eighteen hundreds, just after the revolution. But only in the past decade or so has he shown much interest in our affairs. He has specific instructions that are to be followed, and if you dare disobey him, disastrous things happen!"

Armand looked like he had been drawn into the story, but Richard merely scoffed. "Disastrous things? Like what? Does he muddy the bar? Move the chairs around?"

Meg looked around, as if afraid of being overheard, and said, in an exited whisper that was obviously meant to be heard, "If the ghost is disobeyed, people tend to show up in the storage rooms, bruised, bloody, and unconscious. They always have a note on top of them that says, "Compliments of the Ghost."

Armand looked appalled, and Richard paled considerably more than he already was.

Meg smiled prettily, and then turned to me saying, "Did you manage to get all of that dry gritty stuff off of the bar? Because I can help to get the rest off if you haven't."

I gratefully accepted her help, and watched as Mr. Poligny have a few words with Richard and Armand, then turned and stalked out the door. Although Armand was a man of few words, the oppressive silence that reigned in the room was finally broken by Richard.

"As you know, lately the Café Populaire has had its run of financial trouble. As a result of this, there will be an unfortunate, but necessary pay cut."

I winced. I was barely able to pay rent as it was, and with a pay cut it would be necessary to become a street performer again. I could do it, but performing on the street was a tiring and unpredictable business.

Carlotta, who was by no means poor, stood up and let us know of her displeasure in an extremely irritating, shrill voice.

"What? A pay cut? That is an insult to my talents! I work myself to the bone for this dump," I had trouble keeping my face straight at this remark. All Carlotta did was sing, and hang about the bar drinking cheap beer. "And this is the thanks I get? That's it. I'm leaving. Even if we _are_ having that big special for the returned navy men tonight. I cannot remain where I will not be appreciated as I deserve."

With that she turned, and stalked out the door. Piangi, after a moment of shocked sitting, followed suit. The door slammed shut with an ominous _thud_.

The managers looked at each other, shell shocked. I pitied them. It wasn't a good first day for them, finding out that their bar was haunted, and then their singer and pianist walking out on them.

Armand cried out, frustrated, "What are we going to do now? We don't have any entertainment, and we have a special night for our returned navy men tonight!"

Richard looked panicked as well. "We'll lose so much money! We can't afford that, especially if we are to pay some ghost a salary!"

The bar shone, with Meg's help. I was extremely pleased.

Meg suddenly spoke up. "Christi could sing! And I could get you a pianist."

For a moment I was too irritated by her calling me Christi to notice what she had said. If I've told her once I've told her a million times, my name is not Christi.

Then the words sunk in. I looked down, knowing what the managers saw when they looked at me. They didn't see who I was. They saw a grimy girl with waist long brown hair, in a red hoodie. I didn't look like someone who had been taught for five years by an Angel.

Armand raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Let's hear you sing then."

I started to sing the first song I could think of. It was one of my original works. One I had composed, with the help of my Angel of course.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly _

_When we've said goodbye…_


	3. Prima Donna

**Author's Note: I'm updating every three days, so here is your chapter! Hugs and kisses to all of my lovely reviewers. Remember, reviews are good for the soul! Review replies at the bottom.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Dern, for being cool, supportive, and squeeful for the MC goodness.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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_Remember me_

The audiences' gaze was set on me. Our restaurant was unusually focused on the music. Most bars the musician just fades into the background, but not ours. The music was the driving force of the business. A change in singers was a big thing.

_Once in a while_

Almost as big was the change of pianists. I had called my friend Michael and asked him if he'd like to play the piano for me. Michael Crawford was a minor celebrity in the world of pianists, therefore a big deal.

_Please promise me you'll try_

I had spent hours on my hair, make-up, and outfit. But that didn't stop me from feeling incredibly self conscious.

_When you find, that once again_

I was wearing a black skirt that was long enough to touch the floor, but only just. Paired with it I had a low-cut red shirt, with a black shirt under it for modesty's sake.

_You long to take your heart back and be free_

Myhair had taken the most time. I had to wash it, dry it, and curl it. The result was beautiful ringlets that reached half way down my spine.

_If you ever find a moment_

Sweat was trickling down my back. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the bar, even Meg, boring into me. It was quite discomforting. I didn't have stage fright exactly; I was just a bit apprehensive.

_Spare a thought for me_

I hope my dad could hear me. Even though it was just a bar, he would have been proud of the way I kept the audiences eyes and ears. I was glad for the musical interlude however. Even if it was just a brief one.

_We never said our love was evergreen_

I hope my Angel would be pleased. We had worked for even this small triumph for so long. And after this, who knew? Maybe I could get a job singing for somewhere other than a bar.

_Or as unchanging as the sea_

Letting my eyes patrol around the room, they fell on one table in particular.

_But if you can still remember_

It was Robert.

_Stop and think of me_

It had been seven years since I had seen him, and how he had changed. He hadn't grown much taller; he only looked about five foot ten. Last I had seen him he had been five foot seven. But his hair was several shades lighter, it had used to be a light brown, it was now dishwater blonde. It was slightly shaggy, but didn't quite reach his collar. But his face was the same.

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

It was the same face that had haunted my thoughts for months after that particular move. In fact, it had haunted me right up until my Angel came to me. I could practically see myself playing practical jokes on his friends, eating pizza, and watching him struggle with the violin.

_Don't think about the things that might have been_

In fact, his face reminded me strongly of my father's face. It had optimism in it that could not be hidden.

_Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned_

I wonder what my Angel was thought of my performance. It wouldn't have been possible if not for him. I wanted him to be pleased. He was my sole reason for singing. And singing was one of my only reasons for living.

_Imagine me, trying to hard to put you from my mind_

My angel had promised to come to me tonight, in my apartment. He rarely came to my apartment, as I was a bit embarrassed. As often as not I couldn't pay for electricity, so I lit my flat by candlelight. It had a lovely effect, but visitors were often judgmental. I knew my Angel wouldn't care, but from habit I kept people away.

_Recall those days, look back on all those times_

I couldn't help but wonder what my Angel looked like, despite my father's assurances that the Angel of Music didn't have a body. How could a voice as beautiful as my Angel's voice not have a body to go with it?

_Think of the things we'll never do_

Robert was staring at me so intensely I felt rather self conscious, all over again. What if he didn't like the person I had become? Why did it matter to me?

_There will never be a day when I won't think of you_

My insides nearly melted with relief as I realized I was nearing the end of the song. Soon I would be in the room in the back that served as a dressing room, preparing to go home. And when I got home, my Angel would be there, to share in my great triumph. I could feel my face lighting up with the last lines.

_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea_

_But please promise me _

_That you will think of me_

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**Tink20: I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thank you so much for reviewing.**

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	4. Angel No More

**Author Alert: Hugs and kisses to all of my amazing reviewers! I luff you guys.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Amey, with much luff. Thanks so much for all of your witty support::Does the clone dance:**

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Inside the back room that served as a dressing room, I changed out of my skirt and into my black leather pants. The pants had been one of my only major splurges. It had taken months of careful saving in order to buy them, but it was well worth it.

As I was brushing my hair one final time before I went to my Angel, there was a knock on the door. I walked over, still brushing my hair, and opened the door, expecting it to be Meg, or perhaps the new managers. It was Robert.

I was both delighted and slightly irked to see him. Irked because I was itching to see what my Angel thought of my performance. Delighted because I hadn't seen Robert in so long, and now he was here.

Delight won me over, and I flung my arms around his neck in a spontaneous hug. "Robert!" I cried.

Upon drawing back, I saw a strange look in his eye. Was I too forward? Was this even Robert?

My second question was answered after a moment of silence.

"Christine! How good it is to see you again. It's been, what, seven years?" Robert smiled at me, fondly. Maybe I had just imagined that look in his eyes. But my Angel was expecting me at home, and I couldn't keep him waiting.

"It's been too long, Robert. Come by my apartment sometime and we can talk. Right now I need to go before Joe makes his way over." It was true enough. Joe Buquet, one of our frequent customers, seemed to take delight in sexually harassing myself and Meg. It wasn't terrible, but I didn't exactly fancy a delay in getting home tonight.

Robert looked a bit disappointed, but after I gave him a kiss on the cheek and my address, he spoke again. "I'll come by sometime."

I gave him a quick smile and practically flew out the door.

Normally not having a car didn't bother me. It was only a fifteen minute walk to my apartment building, and I had a gun I kept in my purse, just in case. I wasn't about to walk around at night, alone, and not have some sort of a weapon. It would be about the dumbest thing I could do.

The walk to my apartment seemed to stretch on for countless hours. But finally the dingy apartment building came into view. This was the part of the walk where I was the most alert. Due to my limited budget, the place in which I lived was in a part of town that wasn't exactly know for it's trustworthy and upright citizens. I nervously fondled my gun as I went up to the second floor. I got a couple of cat-calls, but nothing seriously threatening.

I unlocked my door, mind buzzing with excitement. Entering my dark apartment, I scrambled to light a couple candles. With the dim light, I looked over my apartment, wondering what my Angel saw.

I saw a grungy apartment with dirt forever ground into the cracks in the floorboards. Candles lined the walls, and were situated on almost all of the sparse furniture. There were light fixtures, but they were seldom used, to conserve electricity. I looked at the floor. I hadn't gotten around to cleaning it, as I had meant. I wondered what my Angel thought.

I stood there for a minute, wondering where my Angel was. I then heard a voice, the voice I had learned to love and fear over the past five years.

_Insolent boy_

_The slave of fashion_

_Basking in your glory_

_Ignorant fool_

_This brave young suitor_

_Sharing in my triumph!_

My Angel's words were slow and deliberate, and I immediately knew what he was angry about. When I turned eighteen, he had forbidden me to marry; as then he would no longer be able to give me lessons. I had vowed never to have a boyfriend, as I didn't want to get attached to someone whom I could not marry. He must have seen me give Robert the kiss on the cheek.

I spoke, my eyes cast down so as to show proper respect. "Angel, He's an old friend. Nothing more. I'm not going to go and marry all of the old friends that show up at my performances. I gave my soul for you tonight, and only you."

There was a silence. "Forgive me, Christine. I spoke too hastily. I am not here to criticize, but to share in your great triumph!"

I smiled widely. "I did it only to please you, my Angel."

"And please me you did. The Angels wept because of the beauty of your song."

I was touched more sincerely than I had ever been before. "Angel, it is only because of your teachings that I am anywhere near where I am today. I am first and foremost your student."

But one small question was still troubling me, so I unthinkingly asked it. "Angel, you rarely come to my apartment to teach me. Why tonight?"

There was a brief silence, but long enough for me to regret asking the question.

"Christine, do you trust me?" I didn't even pause for an instant before answering.

"Yes, my Angel. I trust you with my life." There was another pause, as if my Angel was hesitating.

"Walk to your mirror, Christine." I did so, slightly puzzled.

"Do you wish to come to me?"

I was going to see my Angel? Father always said that the Angel of Music had no physical form, but his knowledge came from legends, and legends are often wrong. To see my Angel would be amazing.

"Angel, it would be an honor."

In the back of my mind, I heard Robert's voice, but I couldn't process what the words were.

Suddenly I was spinning, and there were a hundred of me; I couldn't tell which of me was real and which the product of the mirror; perhaps none of us were real— only the voice of my Angel was real, telling me things I could not hear.

I stopped spinning, and I was real again. But I was not in my apartment.

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**Monj: I'm glad to know I made you smile! I live to serve.**

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	5. Beyond the Facade

**Author's Note: Erik sends his love to all of my lovely reviewers! Please review!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Kat097 for having such awesome modern day phics. You're an inspiration to us all!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything, as much as I wished I did. And I never will.**

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I was in a dimly lit hallway. Where I was standing, it was made of a strange dark wood that I had never seen before, but I could see further down the tunnel it became replaced by a stone that resembled granite, though I couldn't be sure.

In front of me stood a man. His identity was unmistakable. But he was no angel, of that I could be certain. I couldn't see much of what he was wearing; it was covered up by a large cloak. The ceiling, which was a good foot over my head, stooped dangerously low over his. As if his cloak and height weren't odd enough, he also wore a mask over the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth and chin visible. The mask was a beautifully crafted object. It was black and seemed to be made out of a type of porcelain, though I couldn't be sure.

These things were only given momentary notice by me. His voice was weaving me into its spell, enthralling me beyond hope of being saved. I wasn't sure I wanted to be saved. His voice made me feel like I could live forever. He extended his hand to me, and I took it. Only then did I dimly register that his hands were gloved. The texture of the leather almost brought me out of my reverie, but not quite.

We started to walk down the hall, my eyes never leaving his. He watched me, with an expression that could only be described as _hungry_. He made me feel, somehow, like a queen. But not a queen of any realm that I had ever heard of: a queen of the night. He had an aura of darkness which he wore as surely as he wore the cloak that graced his shoulders.

We walked through dimly lit passage ways for what seemed like an eternity. We finally reached an underground lake, many levels below my apartment. My Angel helped me into a gondola, which was waiting for us at the shore.

It wasn't until I was in the boat that I woke up. I screamed as he began to push us along. I didn't like the looks of the water beneath us, murky and gray as it was, so I decided not to tip the boat over. As I frantically yelled at the man to let me go, he spoke.

"You have nothing to fear from me Christine." His speaking voice was clear, cool, and left no room for argument. Even through my growing terror I had to admire how easily he kept the boat going so fast. It couldn't be easy to keep the boat going a normal speed, and we were going at a breakneck one. He must have worked many long hours at building his arm muscles.

When we reached the shore, I saw a door in the rock. At the sight of the door my terror bubbled into hysteria. I punched my Angel as hard as I could. He grabbed my hands, picked me up with ease, and slung me over his shoulder, his patience apparently grown thin.

We entered the dwelling. The scene that met my eyes boggled my mind. I had expected something spectacular, but my new surroundings were almost frighteningly normal. It looked as if someone had taken a conventional living room and placed it here, who knows how far beneath the ground. The only thing that separated it from a typical dwelling was the lack of windows.

Behind me, the man spoke. "Welcome, Christine."

I turned around. "Who are you?" was the question that left my lips, though so many crowded my mind that it could have easily been any of them.

My Angel spoke to me for the last time. "I am Erik." Now that I knew he wasn't an angel, he could never be one again.

Erik continued to speak, after a long pause. "I am also a man, a man who loves you more than life itself." He got to his knees. "I think I may die of my love of you. Please forgive me."

I felt the color drain out of my face, as Erik got up from his knees. If this man could deceive me for five years and then kidnap me, what couldn't he do? Fear, acute and wild, filled every part of my being.

I flung myself at him, hoping to overpower him. If I could but get past him, I could make it to the other shore and then back to my apartment. Once there, I could call the police to arrest him. This man wasn't my Angel. I had no angel. My father's words had been lies. My whole life was a lie. Tears flew down my face as I beat him with all of the fury I felt.

I pounded his torso as well as I could, which didn't seem to have much of an effect on him. I wished that I could see his face; his expression could give away his intentions. Before I could stop it, my treacherous hand slid up and tore off Erik's mask.

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**Review Responses:**

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**Vicangel: What's so confusing about the last chapter? If you could tell me I'd be much obliged. I'm always open to ways of making my phic better. Thank you for reading even though you think it's confusing. It means a lot to me. Anywhoo, here's your hat::gives a spiffy new reviewer hat:**

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	6. A Face Not Even A Mother Could Love

**Author's Note: Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers! I luff you very much!**

**This chapter is dedicated to hirari-no-tsubasa for writing the ultimate modern day phic!**

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Erik's face was, for lack of a better word, revolting. It was as if it had entirely been ripped off and replaced with the face of one long dead. His nose was either sunken in so far that it was invisible, or simply not there. His skin was translucent, almost to the point of appearing nonexistent. The veins and arteries stood out starkly on his face, the blood visibly rushing through them only thing on his face that made him look alive. His lips, in contrast to the rest of his face, were perfectly formed, and his chin was fine, if a bit pale. His eyes, which I noticed were a peculiar color of gold, were filled with a mixture of pain and rage.

After noticing the rage I felt myself take a step back, my blood pounding in my ears. Murder was shining in his eyes. Never before had I felt such intense fear. I wondered if I was going to die, just by looking in his eyes.

Erik advanced on me, until I was backed up in the corner. Grabbing my shoulders, he called out in a voice that chilled me to the bone, "What did you expect from Erik? Someone handsome perhaps, with a nose of his own? A Robert Chagney? Well Christine, I will have you know that I am made up from head to foot of death. And you shall know that it is a corpse who loves you, worships you, and who will never, _never_, let you go."

He began to cry, sinking at the floor at my feet. He changed emotions so fast that I could barely register the change before he called out to me once more. "Oh Christine, why?" Then he continued, in barely more than a whisper, "Why did you betray me?"

Now it was my turn to be angry. "Erik, you have lied to me, used me, and taken advantage of my trust for five years. Worse yet, you used my beloved father's memory as a tool against my trust. Do not speak to me of betrayal. You yourself are skilled in treachery."

He looked up at my face. "Christine, forgive me. All I have done is of my love of you. You are truly my Angel of Music, as I could never be to you." The tone of his voice melted my heart. I was so confused about this man. Did I hate him? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Erik continued to speak, after a pause that seemed to last forever, and yet no time at all. "I love you."

I knelt down next down to him. With a wry smile I spoke again. "I don't know who is to blame for all of this. You for lying, or me for believing. You were foolish, as was I. I will try to forgive you, and myself." I then tried to give a real smile, though I couldn't quite do it.

Erik stood up, grabbing his mask off of the floor in the process. He offered me a hand, once again the cold gentleman. "You look tired. Perhaps I could show you to your chambers?"

I took his hand, pulling myself up before he could do it for me. "That sounds wonderful."

Honestly, I ached terribly. It must be at least three o'clock in the morning, and I had been up since nine in the morning. Eighteen hours of stress tends to wear you out.

He led me down a hallway that had numerous doors on it. He opened the door at the very end of the hall on the left side, and I found myself in another, shorter, hallway. There was only one door in this hall, about halfway down on the right side. He led me to the door, then indicated that I should enter before him.

I opened the door, a little nervous. When I saw the room within my eyes widened, and I gave a small gasp.

It was beautiful. The walls were painted midnight blue. And beautifully offsetting the walls was the bed. It was silver, in the shape of a swan, with a white comforter that was covered in a layer of feathers, sewed to the comforter.

In the corner of the room there was a small tile, with a small ring of blue tile surrounding it. It was three tiers, and had a basin rim that looked wide enough to sit in.

I walked in and saw a door on the back wall. I opened it and found a walk-in closet that was probably bigger than my bedroom in my apartment. It was practically bursting with clothes. With a small, high pitched squeak, I flung myself into the closet to look at the clothes.

There were leather pants, there were old fashioned dresses, there was almost any type of clothing you could imagine. It was all beautiful, and looked extremely expensive.

I noticed Erik was standing outside the closet. I walked out, and as I did I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. Erik gave me a concerned look.

"What's wrong? Do you not like it? I can change it if you'd like."

I looked up into his face. "No, I love it. It's just…no one has done anything nice to me since my father died. And now you're doing all of this for me and I've just been perfectly rotten."

Erik made a noncommittal noise before changing the subject. "I'll leave you to sleep now. Good night." He walked out, looking back from the doorway for only a second, then moving on.

I realized, just as I was getting dressed for bed, that I had a pounding headache. I had found some black pajama bottoms and a white tank top to sleep in, in one of the many drawers of my closet.

Sleep did not come easily to me, exhausted as I was. My emotions were in such a spin that I was lucky I could keep myself from pacing, banging on the walls, or something else equally unproductive. I lay in my bed trying to sort out what had happened, and how I felt about it, until I drifted off to sleep many long hours later.

**XXXXX**

**Review Responses:**

**Monj: I wanted my Christine to be more sensible than your average Christine. ((Man, that make me think of Yogi Bear… "I'm smarter than your average bear!")) And I'm trying to get a good mix between ALW and the book, so I added in the full mask. And I think that Christine would have to be a lot less shallow if his whole face was deformed, instead of just half, to look past it.**

**Harem98: Hmmm…I have nicknames for everyone else…I shall dub thee Hari! ((If that's alright with you)) Or Remi! Take your pick! ((Unless you just want to be called Harem98. That's cool too.)) I'm glad you liked my update! Please continue to review!**

**Pix: Please continue to review! I love getting your reviews!**

**Tink20: Could I call you Tink::grins: Now I'm getting somewhere! I know I'm doing my job correctly if I get some emotion out of my reviewers::High fives Tink: I shall keep quiet about the pairing. I like to keep you guys on the edge of your seats. And yes, I did want to get the unmasking out of the way as soon as possible. It was really hard for me to write.**

**MMJ::Worships the Face: Heck yes! The face is penultimate! Even if that isn't a word! The face is all that is holy::Pets Erik the Muse: My muse is the French Erik and Christine from the French version of the movie. Very good singers. And that's the language they'd actually be speaking! **

**Please leave a review! Erik will give all the reviewers forehead kisses!**


	7. Musings

**Author's Note: **Thank you to my wonderful, beautiful reviewers! Reviewers for this chapter gets a piggy back ride from Erik :.: stuffs a sock in Erik's mouth as he tries to protest:.:

This chapter is dedicated to my lovely beta, Random Battlecry! Go read her stuff! It's hilarious!

**XXXXX**

"Where am I?" was the dominant thought in my head once I had awakened. For a few moments I was filled with panic. Then the events of the night before flooded back. I leaned back into the pillows, relief flooding through me. Though it wasn't exactly an ideal situation I was in, it was better than having no idea where I was.

I rolled out of bed, even though I was not keen to do so. I had never been exposed to such a luxury as the bed offered. In fact, every inch of my room screamed of luxury. It was a bit disconcerting to a girl who couldn't even use electric lights because of the cost.

After making my bed, out of habit, I looked around the room again. I noticed several things that my tired brain hadn't even begun to process the night before. The walls all contained nooks, one of which held a half-filled bookcase and chair, another a magnificent sculpture of an angel. When I came to the fountain I noticed a door just beyond it.

Inside the door was a magnificent bathroom. There was an enormous bathtub, which probably could have held three of me quite comfortably, sunk right into the floor. On the far side there was a shelf filled to bursting with all manner of bath oils and hair products. And on a rack next to a magnificent sink were several large towels.

I filled the bathtub considerably— it wasn't me paying the bills, after all— and gratefully stripped and entered. I felt grimy after last night; the dressing room at the bar wasn't the cleanest of places. And I didn't exactly have a chance to shower last night.

I added a generous portion of the nearest oil into the water. I could feel my skin softening as it entered the water. This was high quality stuff. I should thank Erik.

Erik. Despite my restless hours last night, I was no less confused than the night before. He used me for five years. But he said he loved me. What would my father think? What did I think? How could something as innocent as my music lessons become such a complicated, dangerous thing?

Of course I didn't think Erik would hurt me, or at least not intentionally. But from what I had seen last night and learned over the past five years of being his student, Erik was a man taken to many passions and mood swings. How would I live with him? Would he ever let me go? Did I even want to go back?

My life above ground was a harsh reality, one in which I was unimportant and unwanted. I worked in a bar, for crying out loud. No one cared about me. Down here I had a purpose, to sing with a man with a voice likened to an angel's. There was nothing for me up there.

But what of Robert? What will he think happened to me? Will anyone miss me once it is discovered that I am missing?

In my mind's eye I saw the day which I left for my new home, away from the Sumptner's. I gave Robert a scrap of paper that listed my new address and phone number, instructing him to call me. I never received the call.

Did Robert care about me? Had he ever cared about me?

Erik cared about me. I could see it in his eyes, even in the depths of his madness. If no one else in my life cared about me, at least he did.

Could I live with a man whose face stuck me with intense horror every time I saw it? Could I overcome my shallow soul's pleas to leave and at least attempt to learn who this man was?

Why should I even try to learn who he is? He lied to me for five years, using my father's memory as a tool to help him do so. What do I owe him?

I owe Erik my voice. I never would have been able to go onto that stage and see such a look of awe from everyone who listened if not for Erik. He truly was an incredible musician and tutor.

I wonder what my father would tell me to do right now. I can see him in my mind's eye, even now, eleven years after his death.

I can see him in his favorite shirt, from the time he went to the symphony and bought the cheapest shirt he could find. I could hear him say, in a voice from memory, "Don't be hasty now. Get your bearings before you chose anything." He had been talking about choosing what classes I wanted to take for school, but the words rang true to the situation.

I would stay with Erik for now. Just until I could get my bearings. I didn't really know anything about Erik the man; yet. I had thought I knew plenty about the Angel of Music. I suppose, truthfully, I didn't know the one most important thing about him till last night.

No one aboveground would miss me, except maybe Robert. But I doubt even he would; and if he did, he would recover soon enough from my being gone.

But just because I had resigned myself to being underground with Erik doesn't mean he has to know it. He did deceive me for five years of my life. I mustn't allow myself to forget that. I had to watch my footing where he was concerned.

I hope I won't regret this later in life.

**XXXXX**

**Review Responses:**

**:.:Erik goes around to all the reviewers and give the promised forehead kisses. And Ahomelesspirate gets three, as she reviewed three different chapters between last update and this one.:.:**

**Tink: **Us authors _do_ have a tendency to use evil ways to get people to keep on reading. But it's because we luff you all. And our inner attention whores demand it. :.:Grin:.: Please continue reviewing!

**Ahomelesspirate**: Whoo! Thank you for giving each chapter separate reviews! I'm sorry about the song. I always get annoyed with that…and yet I put it in my own phic. But I'm glad I made up for it! I'm trying to mainly base Erik around LeRoux. I'm very flattered that you think it is brilliant! I greatly appreciate your flattery! Alright, the reason that she didn't react was because before she had time to, Erik started to scare the crap out of her. If you thought someone was going to kill you, you'd forget that the person was deformed and start worrying for your life. And Christine has a lot of pent-up anger that she suddenly unleashed at him when he made it sound like it was all her fault. Christine isn't a kind-hearted soul, at least not in this phic!

**Monj: **It may seem like Christine is resigning to her fate, but watch out for the next chapter! She'll be doing some serious Erik bashing... :.:facepalm:.: There I go, giving teasers out!

**Sandra:** Ah! Someone with a vocabulary much greater than mine! Or a heck of a lot less lazy than I, who actually looked it up! Thank you for the review!

**MMJ: **So it turns out penultimate really IS a word! Who would have thought? But, I guess Erik's face isn't penultimate… Oh well! I'm glad the face made your day.


	8. Reality Sets In

**Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers! I can't say how much your reviews meant to me. I hope this chapter soothes your need for angst. And there is plenty more where this came from.**

**I outlined all of TAC a couple days ago and it's going to be long. I'm planning on separating it into three parts, of which we are on the first of. And yes, I am planning to have both RC and EC. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Paula for being awesome and giving me Hugh clips! **

**XXXXX**

I was jolted from my musings when I realized the water had grown cold. I quickly washed my hair, and got out.

Wrapping my hair up in one towel, and my body with another, I went to my closet and quickly got dressed in a pair of jeans, a cotton shirt, and a white hoodie that I found. It wasn't a costume that would impress anyone, but the familiarity of the outfit made me a bit more comfortable with my surroundings. By this point I wasn't about to turn down any amount of comfort, small as it was.

I went to the bathroom to find a brush and a blow dryer to fix my hair with, and discovered that there was no mirror in the apartment. I couldn't help but think this was strange. Shrugging mentally, I fixed my hair as best as I could.

I went to the door, thinking to wander about the house for a bit, and discovered it was locked. Slightly panicked, I pounded on the door as hard as I could, waiting for Erik to come and let me out. He never came.

Upon further inspection I found a note situated on my bed, written in red ink.

_My Dear Christine,_

_You need not concern yourself as to your fate. You have no better or more respectful friend in the world than myself. You are alone at present, in this home which is yours. I have gone shopping to fetch you all the things you may need._

As I finished reading the letter, my hands were shaking so bad that I dropped the piece of paper, hardly heeding as it fluttered to the floor. I knelt down and steadied myself against the bed. _All the things you may need. _I retrieved the letter from the ground and read it again, hoping I had misread. Although I had thought I was resigned to staying with him, the reality of it had just now set in.

I was to live in an underground home with a _corpse._

He wouldn't let me go. He might as well have said it in the letter. _All the things you may need. _If I was to need things, I would be staying here. The thought terrified me. I could feel my fear rising, bordering on hysterics even now. I was a prisoner. And the jailer had the face of the devil himself.

What about my job? How was I to keep that when I didn't show up for work? That job was the only thing that had kept me afloat for the past three years.

And my friends! What would they think of my disappearance? Meg would brood herself into hysterics, wondering where I was. And Robert would worry himself ragged.

Even as hysterical tears began to run down my face, a part of me relaxed. He wouldn't go through all of this trouble if he planned to simply rape me. The letter had said I have _no more respectful friend in the world. _Surely he had put that in to ease my fears.

I got up again, to pound on the door. When several minutes of pounding, shouting profanities, and sobbing led to no result I started to run frantically about my room, searching for an escape route that simply wasn't there.

Some part of me couldn't help but jeer at my naïveté. Poor, stupid Christine. Believing in the Angel of Music at age twenty one, and she had suffered the consequences for her ridiculous innocence. How could I have ever been so stupid?

As I thought of my stupidity I started to laugh. It started out as a giggle in between tears. But soon it turned into an all-out laugh, while I was crying at the same time.

About an hour later, I was curled up on the floor near the bed, still sobbing. I heard three taps on the door, and in walked Erik.

The first thing I noticed was that he had discarded his cloak from last night. Instead he wore a black dress shirt, paired with black slacks. He had also discarded the leather gloves from last night. His fingers were unusually long and bony, his knuckles standing out plainly. He walked over to the bed, where he started to arrange the packages at a leisurely pace.

Noticing the open door, I stood up and tried to make a run for it. He caught me before I had gone three steps, with an arm around my waist.

I jumped back away from him immediately. His hands were _cold. _And not a normal cold, where you know that the person in question has been out in the snow for too long. His hands were as cold as death.

Erik moaned, "Oh, forgive me!"

I just stared at him, watching his posture. I could literally see him turn from the warm person who claimed he loved me, into a colder, more civilized persona. The mask on his face wasn't the only one that he wore.

There was a pause for a few moments, both of us trying to collect ourselves. Neither of us spoke; the only sound was that of our breathing. We only watched each other, trying to figure out who would make the next move.

Erik finally spoke, as he briskly shut the door. "My dear, you really should wash up. It is," he paused to look at his left wrist, where I'm assuming there was a watch, "two o'clock in the afternoon."

At his words I realized what a sight I must be, after about an hour of crying. Suddenly I was transported back in time, to the first foster home I had ever been to.

_I had been crying in my room, the pain of my father's death was so fresh that it cut me like a knife, even three months later. My foster-mother, Mrs. Valerius, walked in. With a concerned expression she sat on the edge of my bed. "Christine, I'm going to give you some advice. I hope you remember this for as long as you live, for I'm only going to say it once._

_"Don't let other people see your pain. They'll only see it as weakness, and try to take advantage of it. Be strong, Little One, be strong."_

My tears slowed to a trickle, then stopped completely. This frame of mind had carried me through eleven years of my life. I doubted that it was going to fail me now.

Erik spoke again, once I had regained my lost composure. "If it would so please you, I would be honored if you would dine with me after you wash up."

There was no command in Erik's voice. I could refuse, should I wish to. This is exactly why I accepted; I appreciated that he gave me a choice.

"I would love to dine with you," I said, with as genuine of a smile as I could muster at the moment.

I was glad that I could see his lips under his mask, for they turned up in one of the most radiant smiles I had ever witnessed. His eyes became aglow with happiness, and for that small moment in time I felt as though I would give _anything _to keep him smiling like that, for just one moment more.

But the moment faded, as all moments must. Telling me that he would come to collect me in half an hour, he left me in the room, alone again.

**XXXXX**

**Monj: I'm glad you like my Christine! You might get to like her less and less though. Though she's smart, she's stubborn as a mule.**

**Ahomelesspirate: Do you have a nifty nickname that I could call you? Or could I make one up for you? Anywhoo, Christine has gone through her whole life being rational. But once her mask starts to crack, it falls apart. Mrs. Valerius is partly to blame for this, as she was the one who first told Christine she needed a mask in today's society. But we can't blame her, as she was trying to prevent Christine from being hurt. I put the first crack in her mask in this chapter. And don't worry; we'll see plenty of Mrs. Valerius before the end of the story.**

**Hari: I like nick names. It makes it see more personal, like I really know you. Or at least in my opinion it is. Glad you liked the chapter!**


	9. Dinner

**Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait guys. School started on August 8th this year, and along with it came a bad case of Writer's Block. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Satoshi, the Jolly Hat, and Hotaru. You guys are awesome, and hilarious!**

**Again, many thanks to my amazing reviewers, my beta (Random Battlecry), and last, but certainly not least, my main supporter, Amey.**

It took me only ten minutes of the allotted thirty to wash up. While waiting for Erik to come and escort me to where ever his dining room was, I started looking through the parcels on the bed.

One contained a clock, for which I was grateful. It was impossible to see what time of day it was down here. I would have to ask Erik to set it for me. Another contained a mirror, which I immediately placed in my bathroom. One of the remaining packages was rather small, so I opened it up, curious. Inside I discovered makeup; and not just any makeup, either. This was makeup perfectly suited to my complexion and tastes. It gave me a cold shiver up my spine. Erik must be paying attention to each and everything I do if he caught on to what kind of makeup I buy.

The next package held a beautiful vase, and the last of the packages, wrapped around with a black ribbon with a single red rose through it, held a box of chocolates.

I grinned stupidly. It has been said that you can buy your way into a woman's heart. I don't believe that's entirely true; but, I think, you _can_ get a considerable way inside a woman's heart in that manner.

I stashed the chocolates on one of the empty shelves on my bookcase and filled the vase with water from the fountain, placing my rose in it. The vase I set on top of my bookshelf.

As I thoughtfully positioned it there, I heard three polite raps on the door.

"Come in," I called out, and got off of the chair I had drawn up to the bookcase to reach the top.

Erik entered, and I noticed that he had put a pair of black leather gloves back on. Other than that, nothing about his appearance had altered.

"Good afternoon my dear." The endearment made my cheeks darken a few shades, though not many. It had been so long since a male had called me anything other than "Christine." Though Mrs. Valerius still calls me "Little One" when I visit her.

"And to you as well, Erik," I replied politely.

Erik offered me his arm, which I took. I was grateful that he didn't offer me his hand, still being in shock from the last time, and not eager to repeat the experience. And I don't think I could bear to hear Erik beg for me to forgive him for a transgression that he had no control over.

We walked down several hallways in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't entirely comfortable either.

We entered a room that was obviously the dining room without our silence being broken. I wasn't sure what to say to such a man. Especially after my unseemly eruption earlier.

The room's walls were painted a dark golden color. All the furniture in the room was make of a wood that was similar in color to mahogany, though I have no idea if that was actually what it was made of, having little knowledge of wood types. And with Erik in black, the room was decidedly dark. My white hoodie stood out like a sore thumb.

There was a medium sized table in the middle of the room. Two places were set on the table, facing directly across from each other.

I sat down in the one closest to the door, and Erik sat down momentarily across from me, before jumping up.

"Forgive me, my dear! I have forgotten the food. It's been so long since I've dined with another human being that I have forgotten the most important thing. You see, when not in civilized company I usually only eat once a week at the most." I felt my eyes widen at the comment. Once a week! No wonder he was so thin. "But I know you must be accustomed to less…eccentric eating habits."

Erik hustled out of the room through a door on the wall closest to his seat. In mere seconds he came back through the door, pushing a silver cart with several covered dishes in front of him.

He stopped so the side of the table, where both of us could reach it in ease. As he sat back down he spoke again. "Enjoy."

Before reaching out to uncover one of the plates, I bowed my head and said grace. When I looked back up, Erik was giving me a peculiar look. But it was gone so fast I wondered if I had imagined it.

Uncovering one of the dishes I discovered several prawns, a chicken wing, and a chicken breast.

I loaded the plate onto mine, noticing that Erik took nothing. Deciding to ignore this, I made polite conversation about nothing in particular.

While I was cutting up the chicken breast, we fell silent. I blurted out the words that had haunted my subconscious all morning.

"When are you planning on letting me go?"

Erik's eye's looked around wildly for a moment, and then rested on me. The look of pain in his eyes warned me of the answer before I got it.

"Christine, if I let you go, you would never return to me. You can never leave this place."

At this announcement I felt the color drain out of my face. Stay here…forever? With Erik?

Then the anger came. How dare Erik take control of my life! I highly valued my freedom, and I wasn't about to let some prideful, masked madman take it away from me. I lunged at him across the table, decidedly making it clear that I did not wish to stay underground any longer. For a few brief seconds, I felt capable of killing him.

I didn't realize the knife I had been cutting the chicken with was still in my hand until it met with the mask.

**Review Replies: **

**Hari: Thanks for being such a great reviewer! You have no idea how much your reviews mean to me.**

**Monj: I'm glad you like it! Was the dinner eventful enough for you?**

**Ahomelesspirate: Let me think…nifty nickname…How do you like Mel? I got it right out of your penname. **

**I'm so glad you think I'm doing an okay job at writing Erik's mood swings. Keeping Erik in character is one of the hardest things. Christine on occasion, but Erik is always being difficult.**

**Tink: You might have to wait a while for E/Cness. The first part of my story, which should be quite long, isn't very Erik friendly. There is a whole lot of R/C fluff planned. But there is a tiny bit of E/C fluffyness planned. And then it just turns into an angst fest for a bit, with no fluff.**

**Anne: You made my day with that review! I wasn't even planning the smile when I went into the chapter. When I read over my work, I didn't even remember writing that part. It just sort of…happened.**

**Amey: My clone! You reviewed! I'm so happy!**


	10. Break Down

Author's Note: Forgive me everyone. I've had a boatload of trouble with this chapter, and my schedule is really weird at the moment. I know there is no excuse, but you have my fondest apologies. I don't have time to do review responses at the moment, but I will respond to them next update, which I promise will be in the next three weeks.

Whoever read the origonal version of this chapter, I'm sorry. FFN ate my chapter, and I had to peoce it back together.

Lotsa love to Amey, who beta-ed this chapter for me! I luff you!

This chapter is dedicated to Hugh Panaro. A phantom never dies!

Disclaimer: I never have, and never will, own Phantom of the Opera.

I had never thought of myself as a cruel person. Thoughtless perhaps, but never cruel. I knew differently once Erik took off his mask. He had taken it off to stem the flow of blood, after giving an animalistic cry that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I couldn't feel anything but horror for the monstrosity that was his face. I should have felt guilt, or at least concern. But all I could see was his face. His dead, disgusting face. I had never felt such terrible horror in my life.

I hadn't had time to feel such horror, at least not as much as I was feeling now. I had been too busy worrying about how it would affect my life. Once he had taken off the mask I saw that I hadn't hit much, not even an artery. I suppose it takes a great deal more force than I was able to muster to pierce the porcelain mask than I was capable of exerting.

But then I caught his eyes.

What I saw there was an overwhelming grief. And not grief for what I had just done. Grief for the fact that I didn't love him. And if all of our conversations ended up with me locking myself in my room, crying hysterically, or stabbing him, it didn't look like we were very far on the road to marital bliss. Which I'm sure he wants us to be, though he hadn't mentioned it.

And as we stared at each other, I watched as the emotion in his penetrating gaze slowly mutated from grief into anger.

He started to speak, at last. But I couldn't understand what he was saying. He was speaking very fast, and the words were either in another language or incoherent. His words gradually began to make sense, as I watched on in horror. Suddenly he grabbed my face in his hands, his horrible, dead hands, and began to speak clearly to me, in a voice that made my very soul tremble in fear. "Look at me Christine, look at me! Since you seem so eager to see the monstrosity that is my face, feast your eyes! I'm a very good looking man, aren't I?"

This was followed by bitter laughter.

"After a woman sees me, as you have, she belongs to me. You are mine."

He ranted at me for some time, during which I wasn't able to speak, or even think of speaking. I was petrified.

After a while longer, Erik must have noticed the look in my eye, which I imagine must have looked similar to those of a deer in the headlights. For a moment, pity flashed in his eyes. But then it was consumed by the ever growing rage I could see in them.

"I have scared you, haven't I Christine? Well I assure you, this is my true face, the bane of my existence."

His voice softened, and I saw tears, as genuine as the sea is blue, slide down his cheeks. "I would have changed it for you, had I been able to. I would have changed it for my mother, my poor, miserable mother. And for my father, who never saw my face."

His hand caressed a curl that had fallen in front of my face, before brushing it behind my ear. "My mother made a present of my first mask, you know. For my father, so he would never have to see me."

After uttering that astonishing revelation, Erik gave yet another cry, and fell to the floor. He half crawled, half slithered to one of the doors, raised his hand to open it, and then entered.

Erik's leaving seemed to drain every ounce of energy from my body. I fell to the floor in an ungainly heap, almost losing consciousness.

But then, from the other room, I heard music. At first it seemed like a magnificent scream that went on and on. It was the pain of every person that had ever graced the Earth, in every manner possible. No one except Erik could have written it. It was so intensely glorious and terrible that I couldn't bring myself to rise. For amidst the music was my pain. Tears streamed down my face freely. And at the same time my heart ached for Erik. My pain was born of love that was lost. His spawns from never having been loved.

I suddenly rose, unable to help or stop myself. It was almost like I was drunk. I opened the door further, and leaned heavily against the door frame.

"Erik!" I cried out, "Show me your true self without fear! For I swear you are the most heartrending and sublime man to ever grace this planet."

I believed what I said, and apparently, so did Erik. He stopped playing, and turned around slowly. I stared into his eyes, the only part of his face I could bare to look at now that the music had stopped.

"It's my work, Don Juan Triumphant." He simply stated.

"I compose sometimes. There isn't much to entertain oneself with down here, except music."

Poor Erik. His genius would take the operatic world by storm, if he had means to get it there. Instead he had to be content with a tomb.

"Christine, I know I've hurt you. And I'm sorry. I…I love you. I want to share my music with you. But I don't know how, now that you've seen my face."

I took several strides forward, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Erik, if I ever again shudder at you, it will be from the thought of how great your genius is."

"Oh, Christine." Erik moaned, then fell to his knees.

My hand dropped to my side. "I love you so." He said.Then he kissed my feet.

He didn't see that I had closed my eyes. "I will stay with you, Erik."


End file.
